


Only Women Kneel And Smile

by Nagat



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on the cancelled ending, Canonical Character Death, Death penalty, Fear of Death, Instrumental Ablative, M/M, Non-Consensual Fingering, Orson lives for a while, Thoughts of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagat/pseuds/Nagat
Summary: He was being deprived of every possible shred of dignity. It was better to think about anything else than this.He thought of Galen.Orson lives a little bit longer just to suffer a little bit more. Minutes before his inevitable execution, self-pity is the only last rite he knows.





	Only Women Kneel And Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the cancelled ending of the movie where Director Krennic survived the explosion on Scarif only to get killed by Darth Vader.  
> The title is from David Bowie’s Blackstar because Bowie’s lyrics as porn titles are superior.  
> (Also no Freud this time, like woah.)

There were fingers inside him, gloved and mechanical, which was outrageous. 

The dark figure towered over him like some ancient monument, an altar of forgotten alien religion worshiping death and decay, a horror so deep it became ritualistic.  
Of course, Orson Krennic, though dressed in white, couldn't be further away from virginal purity. Yet somehow he felt sacrificed.

He wanted to ask whose idea was this. What was the point, anyway, when he was going to be executed? Probably Tarkin’s, that old faggot had a fucked up sense for humor and Orson couldn't imagine Vader himself being driven by any sexual impulses.  
Oh, yes, he was still going to be killed for his failures, he didn't doubt it, not even for a second. This was only preparation, getting the pig used to the stick before butchering it.  
Orson almost laughed. The gallows humor was getting to him, that was bad.

He was close to hysteria - as if there was any point in it. He wouldn't plead for his life. He didn't have anything to offer in exchange anyway. They took everything from him.  
They dragged him to the Empire cruiser without chains but unceremoniously enough to give him a very clear idea about his situation. The data leaked and now the Rebellion knew that Death Star, his life work, was sabotaged. He himself had men killed for less, there was no way he wasn't going to be executed.

At the beginning he wondered why they didn't let him blow up with the rest of the planet, but as soon as they reached the end of their journey through the war cruiser, he realized that being burned alive with his own super weapon would be more merciful than anything that awaited him here. If he somehow still hoped the punishment wouldn’t be ultimate, that he would be given another chance, his optimism was shattered into pieces at the moment the blast door opened and troopers pushed him inside the room, trapping him with his nightmare manifested.

It was unfair. It was so _unfair_ .  
He was so close to having fucking everything. No, he _managed_ to do it. He finished his Death Star. He did everything the Empire demanded.  Everything but this one thing, he just couldn’t get rid of Galen Erso. _Galen fucking Erso._

In a swift motion the Sith buried yet another finger inside him. Maybe third, maybe not, it didn't matter anyway as they were inhumanly big and unrelenting. Orson didn't bother with keeping a track on them. He didn’t let out any sound and he would be proud of himself, if only it was due to his willpower, rather than serious lack of air in his lungs. It was too hot, he was suffocating in his robes. There was no choking involved this time but it seemed like no encounter with the sorcerer could happen without Orson suffering from oxygen deprivation.

Did the Emperor know? No, of course he didn't. He would be surprised if the Emperor even knew who Orson Krennic was.

Be damned, Tarkin. Burn in fucking hell.

All these years serving the Empire and this was his reward. He was given a rare privilege, an execution by Darth Vader himself. The Sith was an omen of the pure terror, his mere presence could fill a man with dredd and Orson was honored by atrocity of his touch.

He wondered whether they going to move somewhere from here, if the sorcerer cared enough to at least want to do this, or if he was simply bored. Not that it mattered, as soon as this ordeal was over with, he was going to be choked to death, or maybe his neck would just snap. His body was going to be dumped somewhere, left for good, because no one was going to bother to get him a proper burial. His body. His raped body, because that was exactly what was happening here. He was being deprived of every possible shred of dignity.  
It was better to think about anything else than this.  
He thought of Galen.

He wanted to know where did it all go wrong. He thought Galen forgave him Lyra’s pitiful end. After all, it was her who put herself and Orson into the situation which had to be fatal for one of them. But maybe it wasn't Lyra’s death what took Galen from him. Maybe it was the child, a girl, as it came out recently. There was more of Lyra in her than of her father, which was unfortunate. After all, Galen never tried to shoot him.

Orson should have predicted that a man like Galen would be desperate for an illusion of family. The child should have never been conceived. He should have never allowed Lyra to get close to Galen. He had let his guard down and it proved to be fatal.

His knees were killing him. He wasn't young anymore, Vader could think about that before he took him on the floor in the middle of room like a fucking bitch. He still had his jacket on and it was suffocating him. Sweat sticked his tunic to his chest, making breathing even more difficult. Maybe there really wasn’t oxygen in the room. Did Vader even need it or did his mask somehow provided it? Was the beast even human? He couldn’t tell, they said he used to be human once, but as far as Orson knew, the Emperor might just fuel an empty robotic body with Orson’s nightmares. His touch was slow and disinterested like he didn't fully understand desires which should be behind the act. Krennic squirmed just to have his cape fall over his face. He must indeed resemble a picture of pure respectability.

He wished Vader would just do it. He wished he would take him as the kind of inhuman creation he was, on his back on the floor, tainting his white clothes with blood and soiling his insides with his seed, stripping his choices along with responsibilities, so he could free himself from his failures.  
It would be over quickly at least. He would take small mercies now.  
But Vader didn’t seem to be interested in either.

Or maybe that was for good, it wasn’t like he had ever been fucked this way before. He had his share of lovers, of course, he just never took another man. When he was young, it was a matter of principle. Then it became waiting for someone else's choice. Then nothing.

No one could judge him for seeking some affection, an intellectual and emotional connection, no one. And Galen, brilliant Galen, with his incredible mind and gentle nature was right there.  
_'Obsession_ ’ they called it. Bullshit. He always left the choice on the man. Dammit, he respected his choice to get a _wife_ . He was completely reconciled with the idea of never touching him. He would spend his life by his side, enjoying his company without any inference to Galen’s family life and when that didn't work  out, he didn't press mourning Galen either.  
And now, he was going to die without it.  
Or not exactly, since Darth Vader was interested in introducing him something he never wanted, because obviously, in his life Orson Krennic won't be spared anything.

He took a breath. He was calm. At least his mind was. There was nothing to fear, nothing he didn't deserve or hadn't had coming. Soon it will be over, his body will be thrown into space and that will be it. He hoped his corpse won't float in the emptiness of the galaxy forever. He had always wanted to be burned. He imagined being pulled close to some lonely comet which would burn the meat off his bones. In his mind the plasma melting him was cold.

He exhaled. The uncomfortable hotness of the act was gone by now, but the air around him was still suffocating and thick and layers of his uniform were uncomfortably hot. He felt cold sweat on his forehead. He knew what was happening but he didn't know why. He had nothing to lose anymore and he came here prepared for worse. He should be dead by now, damnit. He had been in so many situations worse than this. There was no reason to feel sick now.

He almost didn't feel Vader’s fingers anymore. The pain was dull and distant, as if he was sleeping and this was only a fucked up dream. Orson stopped reasoning with his body at this point, the result was already inevitable. His tunic was completely soaked in his sweat, sticking to his skin. He had to reek of fear. He was sure that if he touched the veins on his neck, he would feel his heart trying to burst. When he raised his head, his vision blurred. He was going to pass out. He tried to take a deep breath but it didn't help. He needed to lay down immediately or it would happen as soon as he stopped consciously fighting it and he was losing too much energy already.

Vader was probably reading his thoughts because he withdrew his fingers and flipped the Director on his back, legs up. One hand pushed Krennic’s uniform up, baring his chest, while the other one re-entered his body, two fingers this time, but it didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Oxygen filled Orson’s lungs. He didn't realize how much he needed the uniform off his torso until Vader pushed the fabric above his breasts. As the cold air touched his nipples, the fainting stopped. Krennic felt grateful. He felt grateful and pathetic.

When all fingers returned (more than three, he shouldn't have counted) the stretch was uncomfortable. The pain didn't feel real. Nothing about this felt real. Somewhere in a distant part of the galaxy, his body was fighting the intrusion, contracting against Vader’s cold fingers. Cold even through the leather of his gloves, too cold to be made of flesh. The mechanical sound of filtered air was bringing Orson into semi-hypnotic trance which would last as long as there was something left from his body laid on this cursed ground.

He was being defiled, taken apart and utterly humiliated, waiting for his execution and the hands which were violating him were mechanical. At the end of his life, he was denied even human touch.  
He wished his trousers weren't still around his ankles, so he could move better. He wished Vader wasn't so rough. He wished they were Galen's fingers.  
His Galen's.  
He had to be in very weak state of mind because in that moment he could swear that his old friend was the only thing he had ever wanted. Really wanted. Galen and Galen only.  
He cried out.

He was too old. Too old and too dry. Maybe he always was, he didn't know. Maybe his body was too rigid and inflexible to fit anything but his own fingers in. Maybe even if he had managed to seduce Galen, he wouldn't be able to take him. Maybe even this ambition of his would be shattered. Somehow, it was a terrifying thought.

He _loved_ him, dammit. He loved him and he was foolish to think at least that would go unpunished.  
The monster above him breathed slowly, draining air from Orson’s own lungs. An acolyte of death administering the last rites for him. If only the one kind of prayers known to the Empire weren't executions.  
The fingers were no longer inside him, although he couldn't recall when they were removed.  
He realized he was sobbing. It would be over soon.  
When this was over, would he see Galen again?

He thought of Galen’s betrayal, his body on the ground of Eadu, his marriage to Lyra, Lyra whom he executed, their child who destroyed everything Orson had aimed to build in his life. Was she alive? Hopefully she made it out of the planet in time.  
But he doubted it.  
Everything what was left of Erso’s family was wiped out that day by his creation.  
He should have died on that damned planet too.

No, even if there was something after death, Galen won't be waiting for him there.  
She was right, the kid, _his_ kid. He’d lost. But not on the top of that damned Citadel Tower.

Here’s to you, Lyra.

She rarely smiled, but he knew she would find it funny. His agony was always her triumph.  
Trails of tears streaming down his face soaked his collar and hair.

_I’ve lost everything long time ago._

His heart ached. The pain in his chest was unbearable, it felt like someone has put a mountain on his rib cage and made mere breathing impossible.

“There is always more innocence to be lost, Director.”

Orson watched the dark figure get up and leave without giving a single look to his pathetic form, spread on the cold floor.  
He didn't understand why he was alive and at this point he was afraid to ask. Something was telling him that if he asked when he was going to die, what was going to happen to him, he would get an answer.  
He wouldn't like that.  
Although he didn't feel alive anyway.

 


End file.
